Shooing it away was the first thought that came to mind, but with this infant body, that was nothing more than a fantasy. I couldn’t even lift my arms properly, let alone fend off a creature like this. And now, it was sniffing me, its massive nose hovering uncomfortably close to my face.
What is this thing? The question kept repeating in my mind, nagging at me as I took in its sheer size and unnatural appearance. Its glowing tails, the way its fur shimmered in the faint light—this wasn’t an ordinary animal. Nothing about it was.
"Grufffh."
It growled, low and deep, but not the kind of growl that sent your instincts into panic mode. No, this was… different. Calm, almost. Gentle, even.
The beast continued sniffing me, its massive head moving closer with every moment. I tensed, bracing myself for an attack. I could do nothing to stop it—my body was too small, too fragile—but I wasn’t about to let my mind crumble under the weight of helplessness.
And then, it did something I never expected.
The beast lowered itself down, its massive form curling beside me. Its body was close, far too close, as if it meant to shield me.
It wasn’t aggression. It wasn’t hunger.
It was protection.
Does it think I’m its cub? The thought struck me with equal parts confusion and relief. Whatever it believed, it had decided to stay with me that night.
For several moments—minutes, maybe even hours—the beast stayed by my side. Its massive body shielded me from the biting cold, even though I was already wrapped in a blanket. Every time a sound echoed from the shadows—whether it was the rustle of leaves or the distant growl of another animal—the lion would react immediately. Its ears would twitch, its head snapping toward the source of the noise, followed by a low, warning growl.
It was protecting me. That much was clear.
When the danger seemed to pass, the lion would nuzzle against me, its enormous head brushing lightly against my small frame. I wasn’t sure why, but I didn’t cry. This body, this infantile form, stayed quiet, as though instinctively reassured by the beast’s presence. Relief washed over me, unfamiliar but welcome.
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The night passed.
When the first light of dawn filtered through the dense canopy above, I was stunned to find the lion still by my side. It hadn’t left—not even once. But that wasn’t what shocked me the most.
At some point during the night, it had brought me food. Somehow, it knew exactly what I needed—soft, easily digestible fruits and roots. Things even a baby could handle. When I ate and eventually cried, it stayed close, almost like it understood. And each time I quieted, I could feel its presence beside me, steady and unshakable.
But that wasn’t all.
As the day unfolded, more creatures began to appear. At first, I thought they were here to hunt me, or maybe even the lion. But no… they weren’t hostile. They didn’t act like predators at all.
A deer with shimmering, violet-colored fur brought another bundle of strange fruit, its coat glowing faintly in the dim light. A pack of wolves—sleek and graceful, their eyes sharp and calculating—circled the area, standing watch. Like the lion, they weren’t here to harm me. They were guarding me.
It was surreal. Unreal. Yet, it was happening right in front of me. These creatures, these beasts… they weren’t just protecting me—they were providing for me.
And I had no idea why.
As the days went by, I found myself surviving in this forest against all odds. It wasn’t my doing—I owed it entirely to these creatures. They protected me, provided me with food, and somehow ensured my survival. It felt deliberate, almost ritualistic, like they were carrying out a duty rather than acting on instinct. I couldn’t understand why they treated me this way, but the unspoken bond between us was undeniable.
But this fourth night was undeniably different. The shift in their behavior was obvious. The beasts, usually calm and composed, were restless. Their movements were sharper, more deliberate. None of them laid down to rest as they had in the past. Instead, they stayed alert, their eyes scanning the shadows as if expecting something.
Some of them even left. Without a sound, they vanished into the darkness, leaving behind an air of tension. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t good. They knew it, and I could feel it too.
Their unease bled into me, keeping my thoughts spinning long after the forest grew quiet. I couldn’t sleep, not with my mind racing like this. Even though this body was small and fragile, my brain refused to let me rest.
Is it normal for a baby to overthink this much? The thought crossed my mind, absurd enough that I almost laughed, but the seriousness of the situation quickly brought me back.
At some point, they began to line up—the creatures. It was strange, almost ritualistic, and I had no idea what was happening. But I could feel it in the air, a shift that made my skin prickle. The atmosphere grew heavier, charged with something I couldn’t name.
Then, in the distance, a light appeared. No, not just one. It was a series of lights, moving in a deliberate, almost rhythmic pattern. They weren’t random; they followed a path, like a procession. There were so many of them—far more than I could count.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Eeeh,” I managed to let out a small sound, my infant voice betraying the mix of curiosity and unease churning inside me. I couldn’t tear my gaze away as the lights approached, their slow, deliberate movement captivating in a way that made my breath catch.
The beasts shifted. For a brief moment, they glanced at me, as though silently checking my reaction. Then, one by one, they turned their heads back toward the lights and began to lower themselves. Slowly, almost reverently, they bowed as the lights drew closer.
As they drew closer, I saw them clearly. They weren’t just lights. They were figures—humanoid, but not entirely human. There were six of them, each radiating an ethereal glow that illuminated the dark forest. Their bodies were adorned with intricate, shimmering patterns that seemed to ripple like living tattoos.
Their skin was a pale, almost luminous green, and their features resembled humans—hair, eyes, noses—all familiar, yet undeniably alien. These weren’t creatures of myth or ancient history, but something else entirely. Something otherworldly.
I stared, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. Every detail seemed to confirm a growing suspicion, one I had been trying to dismiss as impossible. This wasn’t the past, nor was it a far-off corner of my own world. No, this was something else—a world pulled straight out of the kind of fantasy stories I used to read and watch. Magic. Monsters. It was the only explanation that made sense, as absurd as it sounded.
My breathing quickened as the realization sank in. I was in a world of magic, of myths made real. My thoughts raced with possibilities—questions I had no answers to—but they all scattered the moment one of them spoke.
"Zhorak'tha vek nah thu lorash?"
The words were incomprehensible, spoken in a melodic but unfamiliar language. The figure that had spoken reached out, placing a hand on the head of the massive beast beside me, as if calming it.
The beast nodded slowly, as if it understood the words spoken to it. The gesture felt deliberate, almost unsettling in its intelligence.
I couldn’t help but stare, my attention locked on the strange interaction. The glowing figure, its voice still echoing faintly in my ears, turned toward me. With slow, purposeful steps, it approached, its eyes fixed on mine.
When it finally crouched down, bringing its face closer to me, I got a much clearer look. My earlier assumption had been correct—they looked human, but with distinct differences. Their skin, pale green and luminous, shimmered faintly under the dark canopy of trees, and the light patterns etched across their bodies seemed alive, shifting with an almost hypnotic rhythm.
It spoke again, its voice calm yet firm. "Zhal vekthar vek."
Zhal... what? The words were foreign, indecipherable, and left me grasping for any semblance of meaning.
Before I could dwell on it further, something unexpected happened. My body—this tiny, infant body—moved on its own. My small hand raised itself, as if instinctively reaching out to the figure.
I expected hesitation, perhaps confusion, but instead, the figure responded almost immediately. It extended a hand, its fingers long and thin, and allowed me to grasp one. My tiny hand wrapped around its finger with surprising ease.
The contact was brief, but something about it felt… significant. I couldn’t quite place why, but in that moment, it felt as though an unspoken understanding passed between us.
He looked me directly in the eyes, his gaze sharp yet calm, like he was trying to convey something without words. I couldn’t explain why, but it felt like a message—one I couldn’t quite decipher. His eyes lingered for a moment longer, then, without warning, he bent down and lifted me off the ground with a careful, deliberate motion.
Hey. What are you doing? Don’t eat me.
That thought screamed in my head, my instincts racing ahead of my rationality. I couldn’t resist, couldn’t stop him, but panic gave way to something else when I realized he wasn’t being rough or careless.
"Lohar thu vek thal’ra," he said, his voice low but commanding, before turning to his companions.
I had no idea what those words meant, but his tone wasn’t threatening. It didn’t feel like I was being kidnapped—if anything, it felt more like I was being saved.
As they began walking, the creatures I’d come to know—the beasts that had protected me these past days—started howling. It wasn’t an aggressive sound. It was mournful, almost like a farewell. Slowly, they retreated into the forest, their massive forms disappearing into the shadows one by one.
"Vrak nor, oh Losh, thrak’u veshal norath thi," one of the glowing figures said, bowing slightly toward the beasts and the forest around us. It was reverent, almost ritualistic, as if they were acknowledging the creatures and the land itself.
Their language was driving me insane. I couldn’t make sense of a single word, and the more they spoke, the more alien it felt. I had no way of knowing what they were saying or where they were taking me, but one thing was clear: I was going with them—whether I liked it or not.
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"Son."
"Son."
"Cal."
"Help us!"
"Help your father and mother. We are dying."
"Please!"
It was their voices—my parents. I could hear them, clear as day. My chest tightened, hope and dread clashing inside me. They were alive—they had to be. But their cries for help were desperate, pleading. I couldn’t hesitate. I had to find them.
"Mother! Father!" I shouted, my voice trembling.
I moved forward, my steps quickening as I followed the sound. The voices grew louder, pulling me onward. My heart pounded as I searched, my eyes darting to every shadow, every corner, hoping—no, needing—to see them.
But then, the voices faded. And on the road ahead, I saw it: a car, crumpled and twisted from a crash. Inside were two figures, slumped and unmoving.
This scene.
I knew it.
"No... No... NO!"
It was them. My parents. Trapped in the wreckage, their lives slipping away.
I froze, my breath caught in my throat as the memory surged forward. This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be real. But it felt so vivid, so raw, like I was reliving the worst moment of my life.
"Father! Mother!" I screamed, desperation tearing through me. I had to save them. I had to do something. Anything.
But no matter how hard I tried to move, to reach them, my body felt like lead. And as the reality of the scene bore down on me, I was helpless to stop the flood of emotion that followed.
"Waaah!"
I jolted awake, startled by the sound of my own cry. My small hands were raised instinctively, trembling as I continued to wail. The remnants of the dream clung to me, vivid and suffocating, refusing to fade even as I blinked myself fully awake.
When my eyes adjusted, I realized I was lying on something soft—a makeshift bed of leaves and grass. It felt surprisingly comfortable, though its natural texture was foreign to me. Around me, the space was enclosed by a structure that resembled an igloo, but made of cemented stone.
Where am I?
The question lingered in my mind as I took in my surroundings. It wasn’t a threatening place, but it was far from familiar. Could this be where those glowing individuals lived? It seemed possible.
But even as I tried to piece together my situation, my thoughts kept returning to the nightmare. The images were too clear, too raw—the voices of my parents, the crash, their cries for help.
I couldn’t shake it. The haunting feeling wrapped around me, dragging me down into an unsettling silence despite my tears.
The door creaked open, and someone stepped inside. At first, I thought it was the one who had saved me earlier, but a closer look proved me wrong. This one had a scar across the bridge of his nose—a detail the other hadn’t had. Still, the resemblance was striking enough to make me wonder if they were related.
He approached me without hesitation. His clothing was simple—a sleeveless top that clung to his form and plain pants that looked sturdy but unadorned. There was nothing elaborate about his appearance, but his presence felt deliberate, almost commanding.
Without a word, he crouched beside me and gently patted my head.
"Zhal norith lio," he said softly, his tone calm and measured.
Ah, shit. Here we go again.
The language was still incomprehensible, but his actions weren’t threatening. If anything, they were oddly comforting, like he was treating me as his own child. He continued patting my head, his hand warm and firm, before he suddenly stopped and turned toward the door as it opened again.
"Lohar thu vek’ra shal norath thi," another voice spoke from the entrance.
I turned to look, and my breath caught.
The man standing there was different. Completely different. He wasn’t like the others, with their pale green skin and glowing patterns etched into their bodies. This one had skin that was light tan, almost like a human’s—or rather, exactly like a human’s.
No shimmering lines, no ethereal glow. His features were sharp but familiar, far more grounded compared to the otherworldly beings I’d seen so far.
He walked toward us, his steps steady and unhurried, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He had dark brown hair, thick brows, and striking green eyes that stood out against his tan complexion. He was tall, with a confident bearing, and his clothes were simple yet identical in style to the ones worn by the figure beside me.
"Quite a loud cry, you little one," he said, his tone light but steady.
I froze, my mind processing his words. That… I can understand that.
It was clear now—he wasn’t like the others I’d encountered so far. This man was human, or at least close enough to feel familiar. His words, his voice, even the way he moved felt grounded in a way the glowing, pale-green beings didn’t.
I stared at him, my gaze fixed as I tried to make sense of the situation. Why was he here, and why could I understand him? My curiosity must have been obvious because his eyes flickered down to meet mine, amusement briefly lighting up his expression.
I knew I looked strange, staring at him with such intensity, but I couldn’t help it. Babies were supposed to be curious, right? If anything, I was playing my part perfectly. But hearing another human language—something so normal, so connected to my past life—left me more stunned than I cared to admit.